


A Little Problem at Stark Tower

by chaletian



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Kid Fic, de-ageing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaletian/pseuds/chaletian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a small child in Tony Stark’s lab.</p>
<p>Tony looks at it.</p>
<p>It looks at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a prompt at (I think) avengerkink, but I can't find it and I can't quite remember the prompt, so... yeah.

There’s a small child in Tony Stark’s lab.

Tony looks at it.

It looks at him.

“Jarvis,” says Tony, “why is there a kid in my lab?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, sir,” says Jarvis. “I was not aware there was a child on the premises.”

“Ah, well, definitely looks like a kid to me,” says Tony. “And, frankly, I’m not really ready for this kind of responsibility.”

“Do you know my mommy?” says the kid, and Tony inspects it warily. It’s got sandy-brown hair and grey eyes and hits Tony at about mid-thigh.

“I don’t know, kid, who’s your mom? Jarvis, do we know any moms?  Has Romanoff got some kind of secret underground family going on? And please tell me Pepper hasn’t bought a kid and not told me, because I think that at least warrants some kind of planning meeting.”

“My mommy’s name is Sylvia,” says the kid, screwing up its nose.

“Do we know a Sylvia?” demands Tony.

“No, sir,” says Jarvis.

“Do you know how much use you are to me right now, Jarvis?” says Tony. “None at all, is how much.”

“I’m very sorry, sir.”

“My name’s Philip,” offers the kid. “What’s your name?” He sticks out his hand.

“I- my name’s Tony,” says Tony. “Nice to meet you.” They shake hands solemnly.

“Can we find my mommy now?” asks Philip. Tony’s about to agree that, God, yes, they will leave no stone unturned to return the kid to his rightful owner, when Philip’s jaw drops. A second later the lab door swooshes open, and Tony turns to see Steve wander in.

“Hey, Tony, have you seen Coulson?” says Steve, not looking up from a fastening on the costume he was half-wearing. “We were supposed to be—”

“Is that Captain America?” It’s a tiny, awed whisper, but it’s enough to stop Steve in his tracks, head snapping up in surprise. “Wow! I knew it! I knew Captain America was alive! Captain America’s the best!”

Tony is, to be honest, relieved to see that Steve looks equally unprepared to deal with this situation, viz, a small, mysterious child jumping around in excitement at the foot of the Steve Rogers mountain, apparently fighting off Nazis or aliens or Russians with his tiny fists in homage to the derring-do of Captain America himself (there’s some narration going on, but it’s garbled at best). This lasts for about five seconds, which is how long it takes Steve to crouch down to the kid’s level.

“Hi,” he says. “I’m Captain America,” and Tony remembers that kissing babies was a big part of the Captain America schtick, which is an unfair advantage.

“I’m Philip,” says Philip, pausing in his one-man imaginary battle to stare adoringly at Steve.

“Hi, Philip,” says Steve. “Are you here visiting your daddy?” He shoots an accusing look over Philip’s head, and Tony embarks upon a detailed and indignant mime explaining that the kid had appeared out of nowhere and Tony has no idea who he is. This is wasted. Steve’s attention is back on the kid.

“I’m looking for my mommy,” he says. “We were buying apples and then I was right here.” He runs back a few paces, and points at the floor. “Right here.”

“Shall we go upstairs and figure out where your mom got to?” says Steve, holding out his hand. It’s obvious that Steve could have offered the kid razor blades to suck and a car to run in front of, and he’d have gone along just as happily. Tony is pretty sure he has no contributions to make to this endeavour and his efforts would be better used in creating visionary machinery to elevate the human race, but he suspects Steve will not see things in the same light. He follows them up the stairs.

To the living room, which- when exactly did his home become Avenger Central? Bruce is on the sofa, eating cereal and watching CNN, and Romanoff and Barton appear to be stripping off an armoury’s worth of weaponry after a hard day’s assassining. Tony doesn’t even know what they’re doing in his living room, unless… Pepper had said something about something.

Everyone stops and stares at Steve and Tony and the kid.

“This is Philip,” says Steve, patting the kid on the shoulder. “We’re trying to find his mom.” The kid looks suspiciously to Tony as if the overwhelming excitement of meeting Captain America is gradually giving way to the freakiness of the situation.

“You know what, I’m pretty sure this is not a superhero kind of crisis,” he says, whipping out his phone (Stark design, latest model, eat his motherfucking silicon dust, Apple). “I’m calling Coulson. He can deal with it.”

“Uh, Tony?” says Bruce, slowly putting down his cereal bowl.

Tony waves a dismissive hand. “No, it’s fine, he lives for this kind of thing. Call Phil Coulson,” he orders his phone.

A little hand shoots up. “I’m here,” says Philip.

Tony breathes deeply, and closes his phone. “Of course you are,” he says.

“Yeah,” says Bruce, picking up his cereal again.

“We might need a different approach to this,” suggests Barton. He swings the kid into his arms. “Hey, Phil. My name’s Clint. Wanna go eat marshmallows while Captain America figures out how to get you home?” Phil apparently considers his position, firstly spatially, secondly culinarily, and finds both acceptable. He nods. “Cool,” says Barton. They disappear through the doorway.

“So…” says Steve, “this is kind of unusual, right?”


	2. Chapter 2

In the ensuing conversation, the main conclusion they reach is, yes, this is kind of unusual.

“I was hoping for some kind of definitive action plan,” says Tony. “What I’m noticing is that we haven’t come up with a definitive action plan.”

Natasha shrugs. “You’re the – what was it exactly, Stark? – genius billionaire playboy philanthropist?”

Tony scowls and points at Bruce. “He’s a genius too,” he says.

“That is true,” says Bruce, nodding. “Billionaire playboy philanthropist, not so much. It’s  something to aspire to.”

“It’s a pretty good gig,” admits Tony. “Solid employment, great benefits.”

“I think we need to focus on the problem at hand,” says Steve. “How did Agent Coulson turn into a little kid?”

“Wait a second,” says Tony. “Why aren't we just passing this over to SHIELD to deal with? Surely they’ve got some second-stringers they can hand out if Coulson’s not available?”

Steve is not on board with this. “I’m not sure we can trust SHIELD with this,” he says doubtfully.

“Why the hell not? Better them than us! It’s not like they’re gonna strap the kid down and perform exper…” Tony catches the look on Natasha’s face. “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me!”

“I’m not saying they _would_ ,” says Natasha.

“We’re not bringing in SHIELD,” says Steve.

“Fine,” says Tony. “Let’s move on to plan B.”

They don’t have a plan B.

oOo

“OK, kid,” says Tony, “we need to ask you some questions.”

“OK,” says the kid. Barton’s brought him back from the kitchen, and he’s been perched in the corner of a sofa. He looks the same as before. Well, mostly the same. Maybe stickier. “I can tell you about mommy and daddy and my house and my bedroom and my books and my Captain America cards and my Captain America doll and my toys and my school and my teacher and my friend Billy and my friend Charlie and…” Apparently there are a lot of things tiny Phil Coulson can tell them about.

“Isn’t he supposed to be,” Tony waves a vague hand, “monosyllabic? Reticent? _Discreet_?”

“He’s supposed to be a forty-three year old secret government agent,” snaps Barton.

“…and my grandma and my rocketship and my hamster and my lunchbox and…”

“Seriously, Clint,” says Natasha, rolling her eyes. “Marshmallows? Because a sugar high was always going to help this situation.”

“What, I was supposed to feed the kid _kale_?”

“…and my cousin Susan and my cousin Jackie and my Superman pyjamas and my sneakers and…”

“I have kale? What _is_ kale?”

“That is _enough_!” Steve sounds pissed. Tony puts in a pin in his questions on kale until such time as he can get Jarvis to google it for him.

Tiny Phil Coulson bursts into tears.

“Bozhe moi,” sighs Natasha. No-one does anything for a second, then Bruce scoops up the kid, rubbing his back gently when Phil flings his arms around Bruce’s neck and wails into his collar bone.

“Hey, Phil, hey,” he says, and Tony is impressed by the way his voice is all low and soothing and shit. “Hey, it’s ok. Shh, it’s ok. Nobody’s mad.”

“Captain America’s mad,” Tony mouths, and Steve makes sure Phil’s not watching, then punches Tony in the arm. Hard.

“Shut _up_ , Stark!” he hisses. “This isn’t funny any more!”

Tony’s about to reply that this isn’t funny, it’s _fucking hilarious_ , but then he sees, really sees, that Phil Coulson isn’t Agent Coulson of SHIELD, miniaturised, he’s just a little kid, can’t be more than five or six, scared and tired and sobbing his heart out, skinny arms hanging round Bruce’s neck with a death grip. Tony is a jerk.

“You’re right,” he says, looking away. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Did you register Agent Coulson arriving this afternoon?”

“Yes, sir. Agent Coulson arrived at three fourteen.”

“And the kid appeared at – what? – twenty past?”

“Your initial inquiry about his presence was at twenty-one minutes past.”

“Anything happen between three fourteen and three twenty-one?”

“Not that I noticed, sir.”  
“Right,” says Tony.

“Assuming future human time travel is out…” begins Bruce softly, still rocking tiny Phil.

“Objection,” interrupts Tony. “I’ve never believed in making that assumption.”

“Assuming, _for the sake of argument_ ,” continues Bruce, “that future human time travel is out, we’re looking for some kind of quantum-level disturbance that is beyond our current power to create.”

“Just to be more specific than _some kind of quantum-something whatever_ ,” says Barton, “are we talking mind-controlling aliens-slash-demigods here?”

Bruce shrugs carefully. “It’s possible.”

“And by mind-controlling aliens-slash-demigods, are we talking about Loki?”

“It’s possible.”

“OK.”

Natasha pats him briefly on the arm. Everyone looks slightly discouraged.

“I’ll be honest,” says Tony, “I don’t really have a plan C.”

“You didn’t really have a plan B,” points out Steve.

“That is also true,” agrees Tony.

His phone rings. It’s Fury. He wants to know if Tony knows where the hell Coulson is. Tony says, “He’s here. He’s saving me from drugs and hookers,” and hangs up.

Tiny Phil is not saving anyone from drugs or hookers. He is asleep.

“We should probably put him to bed,” says Bruce.

“Everything will seem better after a good night’s rest,” says Steve. This is a new concept to Tony, but so too is tiny Phil.

“Everyone can stay the night,” offers Tony expansively. Barton looks at him like he’s nuts.

“Stark. We’ve been living here for a month.”

“Right,” says Tony. In retrospect, he thinks he remembers Pepper saying something about that. “I knew that. Well. G’night, John-boy.”

Everyone goes to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony Stark wakes up on Wednesday feeling pretty good about life. He has a shower, gets dressed, and goes downstairs to scavenge some breakfast. Perched on a stool at the island in Tony's unnecessarily enormous kitchen is a small boy, wearing small jeans and a small t-shirt, and eating highly-coloured cereal.

Tony now remembers about tiny Phil Coulson.

He cocks his head one on side and surveys his guest. Tiny Phil, apparently feeling someone's gaze on him, looks up. Seeing Tony, he puts his spoon carefully back in his cereal, laces his fingers against the counter top, and surveys Tony right back.

"Hey, kid," says Tony.

"Hi, Tony," says the kid.

He seems reasonably functional this morning, but Tony is mostly sure that small children don’t get to hang around unsupervised in strange places. “Is someone supposed to be, y’know, keeping an eye on you?”

Phil nods. “Uh-huh. Bruce went to get orange juice. Because there wasn’t any orange juice in the refrigerator.”

“Right,” says Tony. “Well, that’s good of Bruce. Scurvy’s no fun for anyone.”

Now tiny Phil’s frowning. “What’s scurvy?” he says. Before Tony can launch into any kind of description of vitamin deficiencies in general and scurvy in particular, Bruce reappears, a carton of orange juice in hand.

“Are you planning on becoming a pirate, Phil?” he asks casually, opening the carton and grabbing a tumbler from the cupboard, and Phil shakes his head violently, eyes wide.

“Pirates are _bad_ ,” he says with conviction. Bruce nods solemnly.

“That’s right, they’re very bad, and they don’t eat any fruit or vegetables, and they get scurvy which makes them very sick.”

“Because they’re bad,” says Phil, apparently satisfied by the cause-and-effect of this phenomenon. “I eat my veggibles.”

“I just bet you do,” says Tony, ignoring the eye-rolling Bruce casts in his direction.

Tiny Phil eyes him critically, and Tony is sort of reassured that this is still Coulson. “I _like_ my veggibles,” Phil informs him. “I don’t like you.” This seems to be all he has to say on the subject, because he picks up his spoon again and in between (and, actually, during) mouthfuls, he starts regaling Bruce with a story about a rabbit and a dinosaur on an adventure. As far as Tony is concerned, the tale rapidly becomes unintelligible, and Bruce is mostly nodding along and saying 'mmhmm?' and 'really? Wow!' whenever Phil pauses for breath and/or cereal. Tony genuinely wonders how any parent is ever able to communicate with its offspring, but he gets that the story ends happily with Captain America saving the day, so it doesn't really seem to matter if the details get lost.

“Speaking of the noble captain,” says Tony, pouring out some cereal out for himself (who knew his kitchen had Lucky Charms?), “where is he? I mean, assuming he’s not saving us from Nazis or Russians. Unless Romanoff’s on a rampage. Actually, where _are_ Romanoff and Barton? First they move in, then they disappear in our hour of need? Where’s the commitment?”

Phil twists in his seat to look up at Bruce. “He talks _a lot_.”

“Yes, he does,” says Bruce. “But he’s our friend, so it’s OK.”

Tony doesn’t know how he feels about being branded as everyone’s friend. He eats some cereal instead. It’s revolting.

“The others went to SHIELD HQ to find out what progress has been made about contacting Thor,” carries on Bruce. “Given the nature of this... incident, he’s currently our best bet for getting our Coulson back.”

Tony’s still eating the cereal. It’s still revolting. “Don’t we have some kind of bat signal?” he demands. “Only, y’know, shaped like a hammer.”

“The bat signal is a _bat_ ,” says Phil. “ _Everyone_ knows that. Even my cousin Susan knows _that_.”

Tony hadn’t realised that a person that small could have a voice that dripped disdain, but hey, he’s learning all kinds of things recently. “Hey, kid, I’m a genius,” he says defensively. “That means I’m super smart.”

“Captain America’s super smart,” retorts tiny Phil. “Captain America’s super strong and super brave and super _super_.”

“Yeah, well, Captain America’s also a super...”

“Super great guy,” Bruce interrupts promptly. “Hey, Phil, let’s go play over there, OK?” He leads Phil over to a space by the window, and gives him what looks suspiciously to Tony like the collection of action figures the Avengers had spawned.

“Did we know about Coulson’s fetish for Captain America?” asks Tony as Bruce returns to the kitchen island.

“Well, those of us who, you know, pay attention to other people,” replies Bruce, propping his elbows against the counter and watching Phil play. Captain America is shooting down all the other Avengers.

“Harsh,” says Tony and waves his bowl. “And who invented this crap? Shouldn’t you have fed him wholewheat something?”

“He’s a little boy who’s stuck in a weird place,” says Bruce patiently. “The cereal is a treat. And it’s not really that harsh, Tony. You didn’t realise that Clint and Natasha had moved in.”

“I knew that,” says Tony. He doesn’t expect this from Bruce, and he maybe feels a little hurt. “I’ve been kinda busy, Bruce. Giant leaps forward in technology do not build themselves.” He pauses. “Well. There’s Jarvis. I guess AI doesn’t really conform to that statement.”

“Tony—”

“I’m just saying, I’m a busy guy. I don’t have time for all this...” he grinds to a halt. He’s not quite sure exactly how to define what it is he doesn’t have time for. Bruce doesn’t have that problem.

“Us, Tony. And, people in general, I’ve noticed.”

This is starting to piss Tony off. “I’m sorry, have I been missing out on group hugs and campfires and kum-ba-yas? Yeah, that’s not really my thing.”

“Oh, we’ve noticed,” says Bruce. He looks like he’s starting to get pissed off too and Tony’s beginning to think that he’s actually up for a proper argument on the subject, no holds barred, when a movement reminds both of them that they’ve got an audience. Tiny Phil is standing watching them, clutching the Captain America figure with both hands.

Bruce takes a deep breath, and turns away. Tony can see him pull off his glasses and pinch the top of his nose.

“Are you having a fight?” asks Phil quietly.

“No,” says Bruce. “No, we were just talking.” He turns back and smiles at Phil, but Tony can tell he’s still tense with the awareness of keeping his temper. “I have to run an errand,” he says. “Tony’s going to look after you for a little bit, OK?”

Phil looks sceptical at this turn of events. “I don’t like Tony,” he says.

Tony can’t help himself, and grins. “I know you don’t, Phil. It’s OK, a lot of people don’t like me. You’re in good company. Captain America’ll be back soon, but I thought we could go and build a robot until then.”

Phil considers this option. “Can we build a super good robot?” he asks.

“We’ll build the best robot ever,” promises Tony.


End file.
